It was still struggling, and Larry instinctively ducked under its huge hairy chest to use his shoulder to assist its attempts. Before she knew it, Grace found herself taking his place by the horse’s head. Working together and dodging the flying hoofs, their efforts finally allowed the mighty beast to heave itself into a standing position, righting the wagon so that both equine companions stood together, quivering and nervous but upright at last.
The humans stepped back, panting with relief, and Grace saw Larry puff out his cheeks before turning to her with anger blazing in his eyes.
‘Why the hell did you do that? You could’ve been hurt!’
Indignation flared in Grace’s nostrils. ‘So could you!’
‘But they’re our horses. Our responsibility.’
‘But you needed help—’
‘I was right behind you, cheel,’ Geoffrey put in. ‘But you beat me to it. Now, everyone’s all right, aren’t they? So let’s get back to work.’
Larry threw Grace a reproachful glance and she set her chin stubbornly. Was she supposed to have stood back when her instincts told her to go to Larry’s aid? The poor horses were terrified, and she couldn’t bear to watch them suffering. She didn’t dare imagine what poor Sunny was going through. The poor thing might well have met a gruesome death by now for all anyone knew. Grace hadn’t been able to protect Sunny, but she had been able to help the two carthorses that were gradually settling down under Derek’s soothing ministrations. And if Larry didn’t appreciate her efforts, well … well, sod him, she swore silently, even though she cringed at the thought that such a word had entered her head.
She pushed waspishly past John who had only just appeared in the doorway to see what the rumpus was about in the yard. Frustration circled about Grace’s heart as she set the machine-copier in motion. It was all just because she was a girl, wasn’t it? But women were doing dangerous work in the munitions factories, and what she had done was nothing compared to the risks they faced every day.
The first tenon had now been turned into a spoke ready to be finished by hand. Grace removed it from the machine and replaced it with a new length of oak. Everyone else, too, had returned to their various tasks and Grace felt her resentment subside. At least she was competent in the job she was entrusted with, and couldn’t be criticized for that!
‘Grace, what on earth are you doing? They’re all too short! You must have put the wrong pattern in the machine.’
‘What? No, I haven’t.’
‘You have. Look!’
Grace’s senses reeled as Larry held two spokes together, showing clearly the difference in their lengths. Oh, no! How many had she already run off? How could she possibly have made such a mistake? She looked up at Larry, and the unusual anger in his expression frightened her. It was too much. Her resolve suddenly failed, and she burst into tears.
She didn’t see the spasm of remorse that at once twitched at Larry’s face. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said, returning to his normal level tone. ‘It’s a bit of a waste, but we can keep them for next time we’re making a smaller wheel. You’ll just have to make some new ones, that’s all.’
‘Of course it matters!’ Grace protested, smarting under the degradation – and the great, suppressed emotion that was her grief over Stephen, her mother and everything the war meant for her. And as Larry stepped towards her, arms outstretched and his face alight with concern, she slipped past him and ran outside, to the astonishment of everyone else.
John Sampson turned his face away to hide his satisfaction.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT HAD SNOWED on Dartmoor during the winter. It always did to a greater or lesser extent. But now, well into the new year of 1916, the snow had virtually gone especially lower down on the edge of the moor. There could well be more snow to come, blanketing the wilderness in pure, crystal brilliance that would twinkle in the weak winter sun. But for now, Grace was enjoying the respite in the weather. Having cooked the family Sunday lunch, she had been ushered out of the cottage by her father who insisted the children get some fresh air while he kept an eye on Temperance. They had started up the steep road towards the church, but had soon turned off right, cutting obliquely through fields and thus arriving at the tiny, picturesque hamlet of Welltown. Grace didn’t go there often as she preferred the open freedom of the high moorland, but a wicked wind was biting into their faces and it would be more sheltered down in the valley.
The younger girls were trotting along beside George who had developed a talent for making up spine-chilling stories about dastardly tree-spirits and beautiful water-nymphs who always won the day with their superior good magic. Grace was grateful as, while Faith and Maggie squealed with the glee all children seem to derive from gory tales, it left her mind free to wander, something she had little opportunity for these days.
The afternoon sunlight caught the brooch she kept pinned to her coat, and her thoughts travelled back to when Larry had given it to her at Christmas.
‘It’s not much,’ he had said as she gasped at the piece of costume jewellery in its velvet-lined box. ‘It’s from Martin as well. He asked me to get something for you in his last letter. I hope you like it.’
Tears welled in Grace’s eyes. She was somehow deeply touched by the lovely gift when there was so much sadness in the world. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she choked. ‘I’ve never owned ort like it afore. We only ever give each other practical things as presents.’
‘They’re not real gemstones,’ Larry went on apologetically. ‘We couldn’t afford those. I wish we could, though. And we are truly friends again, aren’t we?’
Grace knew instantly what he was referring to, and her chest squeezed with mortification. ‘Yes, of course we are. It’s just, well, that day, everything seemed to get on top of me.’
‘I was just as much to blame. I just couldn’t bear to see you hurt. Ever.’
His eyes had softened as he smiled at her, and she had felt a warm tenderness seep into her body. She could feel it now, and she was so glad that she had such a good friend as Larry. The day nearly three months ago now, when she had made the costly mistake in the workshop, was well and truly forgotten.
They were coming back into the village, having made a loop back up past the church. George had just taken from his pocket the precious halfpenny bar of chocolate their father had given them to share. He was holding it aloft out of his younger sisters’ reach, claiming that he was going to consume it all himself. Faith was jumping up at his raised arm, shouting at him, while Maggie had burst into tears. Irritation spurred Grace from her reverie and she swiped the treat out of George’s hand.
‘Don’t be so horrible, George!’
‘Aw, Gracie, I were only teasing,’ the boy pouted in reply. ‘You knows I didn’t mean it.’
‘But you’ve made Maggie cry. I’ve a good mind to let the girls have your bit and all.’
‘You wouldn’t be so mean….’
‘Oh, yes, I would. And you should be more grateful! Just think of the sailors who’ve risked their lives to bring us the cocoa or whatever else is needed to make the chocolate in the first place. You know how German U-boats are attacking the merchant ships. You should be ashamed of yourself for … for….’
Grace lost her train of thought as her attention was drawn by the raised voices of a couple standing opposite the inn. She immediately recognized Aggie Nonnacott and John Sampson who appeared to have just emerged from his cottage. Aggie had adopted her usual superior pose while something small and white was fluttering down from her hand to land at John’s feet.
Grace’s heart gave a painful thump as the day Aggie had done the self-same thing to Larry sprang into her mind. The other girl had been behaving unobtrusively since Grace had discovered her with Martin down by the stepping stones, and now the memory of both incidents grasped Grace by the throat. It seemed that Aggie was up to her old tricks, but Grace knew it didn’t do to get on the wrong side of John Sampson! Now, however, he bent to retrieve the white feath
er, gazing at it in mock surprise before he exploded in a guffaw of laughter.
‘You doesn’t expect us to be afeared of that, does you?’ Grace heard him chortle, and she held her breath as, before Aggie had a chance to move, John stroked the feather along the suddenly slack-jawed girl’s cheek. ‘And surely you doesn’t think I can be intimidated by a stuck-up tart like you?’
Oh, Lord, what would happen next? Grace turned protectively towards her squabbling siblings, wanting to shield them from whatever unpleasantness was about to occur, but she couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder in fearful fascination. Having taken a step backwards, Aggie had quickly regained her normal composure and was sneering back at her victim.
‘Well, I’d be afeared if I were you,’ she snorted. ‘Be called up soon, you will, with that new conscription law. Men up to forty-one, and I don’t think even you can get away with claiming you’re older than that.’
‘Huh! Not so clever as you thinks.’ John poked his head forward so that his nose was almost touching Aggie’s. ‘Haven’t read about it proper like, have we? If you had, you’d know it’s only for unmarried men or widows with no chiller. It might’ve escaped your notice, but Nan be alive and kicking, and us had three tackers last time I counted them.’
Aggie was not to be thwarted. ‘Oh, so that’s why you’ve given the poor woman so many children, is it? To hide behind?’
‘We had the first two afore the war started, if my memory serves me rightly. So, young Aggie.’ Grace saw John take Aggie’s hand, place the feather in her palm and close her fingers around it. ‘You’d better look after that for when you needs it again. Only next time, make certain of your facts.’
He gave a short laugh before striding off down the road leaving Aggie staring, dumbfounded, after him. It was some moments before she noticed Grace and the children watching her.
‘What you looking at?’ she barked before spinning on her heel and marching away.
Grace lifted her eyebrows in genuine surprise, since the ugly scene had prompted a reaction inside her that both astonished and confused her. She actually felt sorry for Aggie. It was quite gratifying to see someone trying to get the better of John Sampson, but she had been shot down in flames in much the same way as Grace had been when she failed to influence John over his treatment of his wife. So, in some peculiar and oblique manner, it put them on the same side. On the other hand, John had been quite right in all he had said, and after all, it would be appalling for Nan if he had to go and fight – and maybe never return. Grace knew only too well what it was to lose someone, and John was also the breadwinner for the young family.
‘Come on, you lot,’ she ordered, shoving George forward and attempting – unsuccessfully – to cast her unsettled emotions to the back of her mind.
‘This certainly puts a different complexion on the matter,’ Grace heard Geoffrey comment as she arrived at work.
She guessed what they were discussing. She had seen what was in the morning paper – at least, Farmer Snell had read it aloud at the breakfast table. The new maid, who had come to work for them the previous September, had only just turned thirteen and didn’t realize the far reaching consequences of the news. But everyone else did.
‘Married, widowed, with or without chiller,’ Bob summarized, nodding his head gravely, ‘all men between eighteen and forty-one it is, now. As if it baint bad enough already for those of us what’s lost a son, it’s to be husbands and fathers as well now.’
Geoffrey clapped the carpenter sympathetically on the shoulder. ‘I know. The first conscription act only came into effect a couple of months ago, and already the government’s decided it’s not enough. Makes you wonder if they’re not planning some big offensive on the Western Front. This war’s already dragged on nearly two years, and if something radical isn’t done soon, it’ll carry on in stalemate another two from what I can gather.’
‘But it’ll take months to train up all these new conscripts,’ Larry reasoned, ‘even if we have got this new daylight saving British Summer Time arrangement. Look how long Martin’s battalion was training before they went to France. It wasn’t far off a year.’
‘Desperate situations call for desperate measures, lad,’ Edward grimaced. ‘They might not plan on training them to such a high standard. And at the start of the war, there were hardly any weapons to train with. Now we’re churning out shells and machine-guns like nobody’s business. That must make a difference.’
‘Possibly,’ Larry conceded. ‘Oh, morning, Grace,’ he said as he caught sight of her. ‘You’ve heard this new announcement, I assume. Won’t affect your father, will it? He’s older than that, isn’t he?’
Grace had been listening to the conversation with the dull numbness that comes from being forced to accept something dreadful. A similar discussion had gone on around the farmhouse table, Farmer Snell voicing the same opinion as Geoffrey Vencombe. Now Grace puffed out her cheeks in a wistful sigh.
‘Yes, Daddy’s forty-three, thank goodness. Can you imagine what it’d do to Mummy if he had to go off to fight as well? As it is, if she didn’t have us all to muddle through the day with her, she’d have to go into an asylum or summat.’
‘She’s no better then?’ Geoffrey asked in his usual kindly fashion, and Grace shook her head. ‘Ah, well, I reckon we’ll just have to see what this’ll mean for us. The only person we could lose is you, John, as far as I can make out.’
Grace noticed that John had been getting on with his work without entering the conversation, almost as if he were trying to block it from his ears. Now, though, he was forced to lift his head and talk to his workmates.
‘Looks like,’ he answered gruffly. ‘If I has to go, then I has to go. I’d prefer not, but I never said I wouldn’t. My poor Nan’s not going to be too happy about it, mind, not with the three tackers to take care on.’
At least he wouldn’t be there to make it four, Grace considered grimly to herself. But then she bit her lip. That was unkind. Cannon fodder was the term Farmer Snell had employed that morning, sending recruits to the Front with so much less training than they had at the start of the war and relying on higher numbers of troops and more powerful weaponry instead. And John was right. It really would be hard on Nan.
‘Well, let’s hope for all our sakes you don’t get your call-up papers too soon. It won’t be easy to manage here without you, either,’ Grace said, astonishing herself – and John, too, judging by the sudden change of expression on his face.
‘Maybe we could argue that we really need John here,’ Larry put in. ‘I know even being a skilled wheelwright wasn’t officially a reserved occupation in the first wave of conscription. But with all these attacks on merchant-ships bringing our imported food and farmers being told to increase production as a result, well, we all know our books are full for months ahead. It’s as much for the war effort as working in a munitions factory. And don’t forget, we’ve been sub-contracted a couple of times to make a consignment of wagon-wheels for the military.’
Geoffrey raised a thoughtful eyebrow. ‘No harm in trying, I suppose. But I doubt it’ll wash. The rules will probably be even stricter this time round. Even in farming, only the farmers proper were protected, not farm-labourers. Farmers have been drafting in women to take the place of the conscripts who’ve been called up, and we’ll have to do the same. After all, we have Grace already, and look how successful that’s been.’
Grace was aware of the scarlet that flared into her cheeks. Bar the odd costly mistake, she reminded herself ruefully. But it might be pleasant to have some female company at the wheelwrights’, much as she got on well with the men. Excepting John, of course. But as he continued with his work, quietly for once as if locked in his own thoughts, Grace felt a twinge of pity. It must be unimaginable for any man, whoever he might be, to contemplate staring death in the face on the battlefield. She shuddered, and thanked the Lord that Larry was at least one young man in the village who would be spared that horror.
‘I
really mustn’t be late,’ Grace proclaimed, putting away the tools she was using. ‘It’s amazing that Martha insisted on carrying on looking after Mummy and Maggie for us, but I feel I must get back on time.’
‘She’s a rare soul is Martha. But that’s perhaps how she’s coping, throwing herself more than ever into helping others.’
‘I think she’s still in shock. Fancy reading in the paper that your son’s ship has been blown to kingdom come in a big sea battle….’
‘The Defence, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, at what they’re calling the Battle of Jutland. But I don’t think she’ll believe that Horace has been killed until she gets official notification.’
‘Poor soul.’
‘I know. She’d do anything for anybody, and doesn’t deserve this. But I really must go. See you all tomorrow.’
Grace hurried out of the yard. It was only days into June and the weather was being kind, but this new tragedy in the village was weighing heavily on everyone’s heart. Temperance had seemed more relaxed of late, even the faintest memory of a smile lifting the corners of her mouth on occasion, so they had been careful to keep the news from her. It had, however, reignited Grace’s own smouldering grief over Stephen, and she kept imagining poor Horace drowning, the panic as his mouth and nose and then his lungs filled with water. Perhaps he had been screaming in agony from an injury, the sea all around on fire from burning engine fuel. Oh, good God, it was no wonder poor Martha was blanking it from her mind.
‘I’ll believe it when they tells us official, like,’ the poor woman had told her with an emphatic nod of her head. ‘In the meantime, us doesn’t want to upset Temperance now, does us? Us must get on with our work. I mean, it don’t make no difference to our lives here, do it? Horace has been away for years, and he don’t have no missus or tackers. Not like our Jim or our Stanley. Both got families, but they’m only labourers, so they’m likely to be called up any time now.’
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